


Bitter Regret

by MakingPoetry



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Sex, F/M, Post-TWS, Protective Bucky Barnes, kidnapped for your own good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 01:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2251203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MakingPoetry/pseuds/MakingPoetry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes leading an average, boring life isn't enough to keep you from getting swept up in things that are crazy and dangerous. Being kidnapped by a complete stranger, who turns out to be Bucky Barnes, the former Winter Soldier, is only the start of things. Going on the run from Hydra and trying not to die? All in a day's work-for one of you, at least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bitter Regret

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what to tag this with, haha. I'll be updating tags as chapters go along, when other characters show up, etc. This is my first real reader insert fic that I've ever written and it feels...different than what I'm used to writing, but fun! So I hope other people will find it fun, too.

It had been all over the news, what had happened with the three helicarriers. There was stuff about SHIELD and Hydra on most news channels and all over the internet, but with the way things had blown up-literally-it was hard to tell what was a rumor anymore and what was fact. What you were certain that you could believe though, was that terrible things had happened and countless lives had been lost. There was also the fact that there was a terrorist organization out there, even though nobody knew how large it was by this point.

Despite that, you didn't think you were really in very much danger. You lived in a quiet neighborhood and led, for the most part, a fairly boring life. You lived alone with your dog, a beagle named Cannoli, and worked from home. Aside from being able to stay up all night and make a mean cup'o'noodles, you didn't really have any particular skill that would make you a target for anyone like Hydra. You didn't need super special talents to get by just fine, after all, and aside from being a little lonely from time to time, you were happy. That was the real important thing in life.

It was sometime after midnight when you finally dragged yourself to bed, which was somewhat early for you, but you'd had a relatively exhausting day. You made sure all of the doors and windows were locked before taking Cannoli into the bedroom with you and closing the door. Cannoli wasn't much of a guard dog, considering her size, but you liked having her close at night. You'd just barely started to drift off though when you heard a crash from somewhere out in the rest of the house, like something glass had fallen and broke. Or a window had been smashed.

For a long moment, you froze under the covers, afraid to move even though whatever it was wouldn't know whether you did or not. Slowly, you lowered the covers, looking towards where Cannoli had been sleeping on the floor. She was now sitting up and staring intently at the door. You wondered what you should do, if someone was breaking in or if something in the kitchen had just fallen over like things did sometimes, when Cannoli got up and looked at first you and then the door again. There was no other sound that you could hear, not like if someone had been ransacking your house, and it was starting to make you wonder if something _had_ just fallen over.

Either way, you were never going to be able to get back to sleep until you'd assured yourself that you weren't going to be murdered in your sleep, so you quietly slid out of bed, reaching for the sweatpants you kept next to your nightstand. If you were going to die, you were at least going to die with pants on. Then you tugged your shirt down into place, pushed some stray hair back from your face, and grabbed the baseball bat that you kept behind the door just for these kinds of situations. If it turned out to be nothing at all, then Cannoli wasn't going to judge you for creeping through the house like a terrified ninja, and if there _was_ someone, then you could hit them in the head or something before running to hide and call the cops.

Your heart felt like it was trying to pound its way out of your chest as you slowly opened your bedroom door, hoping the handle wouldn't squeak like it was prone to doing sometimes. It didn't, but the moment the door was opened far enough, Cannoli went dashing down the hallway into the darkness.

"Cannoli!" You hissed, like the dog was actually going to listen to you, " _Cannoli!_ "

As expected, Cannoli didn't even pause. Suddenly now, on top of everything else, you had to worry about your dog possibly being killed by some robber. It gave you the courage you needed to start down the hallway, at least. Now you weren't getting to the bottom of this simply for your own sake, but for Cannoli's as well. Didn't mean you weren't still terrified or that you loosened your grip on the baseball bat-because honestly you were holding onto it tight enough that your knuckles were nearly white-but it was enough to keep you going forward instead of locking the door and hiding in your bedroom.

Everything was quiet, Cannoli wasn't barking, but you could hear _something_ , you just couldn't figure out what it was. You made it to the end of the hallway, started to edge your way into the living room, and that was when you saw the glass all over the floor. Something hadn't broken in the kitchen; someone had broken into the living room window. The curtain shifted gently in the slight breeze that was coming in, but you had frozen again, your eyes wide. Someone was in your house and you hadn't even checked the spare bedroom along the way, which was the only unchecked room behind you. If they weren't there then _someone was still in your house and you didn't know where they were_.

That was when you saw the flash of silver in the shadows by the couch, and the further movement that accompanied it. You realized that Cannoli was there too, lying on the floor, her tail thumping against the carpet either in excitement or fear, you didn't know and you didn't really care. There was someone in your house and they were stepping towards you now, their hands raised. You hardly even processed what you were seeing; you just did the first thing that came to mind. Naturally, that was screaming and swinging the baseball bat wildly. At least you finally knew, after all of these years, that when it came down to fight or flight, your gut instinct was _fight_.

The only reason that you even stopped swinging was that the bat abruptly met resistance with a low metallic _clang_ before it was pulled from your hand all together. Then you found yourself crowded back against the wall with a hand over your mouth and someone entirely too close to you. It took you a few seconds to realize that your screams were now muffled, and as such, entirely useless, as if they'd ever done any good to start with. You fell silent, in turn realizing that Cannoli was growling and barking now, likely because of the commotion you'd caused by screaming.

You were only dimly aware that whoever this man was, he was considerably taller than you and broad shouldered, though anything beyond that, you didn't know because you closed your eyes tightly. If you were going to die, you didn't want to see it coming. You just hoped that it was quick and painless. Except death didn't come, or pain, or anything else that you had been expecting.

"Calm down," the man said, leaning in so close that his hair tickled your face, "I don't want to hurt you."

You hesitated for a long moment, so scared that your legs were shaking, before tentatively opening your eyes. You weren't sure what you had been expecting, but whatever it was wasn't what you saw. You never would have expected someone who broke into your house to appear so…distressed by your reaction. Irritated, maybe, angry for sure and quick to want to get out of there before the cops were called, but not _distressed_.

Cannoli had mostly gone quiet now too, just growling every now and then, like she wasn't sure what the hell was going on, either.

"Are you going to stop screaming?" the man asked.

There was a lot of shadow on his face, which made it hard to read his expression beyond distressed, but he didn't _seem_ cruel, just…lost, maybe, and something else you couldn't quite define. In a different circumstance, it might have been endearing, but right now it did absolutely jack shit because you still weren't convinced that he wasn't going to just slit your throat. Maybe all of this was just an act, part of some sort of sick game. You weren't going to get anywhere with his hand over your mouth though, so you nodded.

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, before lowering his hand. True to your word, or rather, your nod, you didn't scream again. It would have been hard to anyway with how you couldn't seem to get a deep enough breath of air. It was startling how close to crying you were, but you refused to just dissolve into a mess. You had to keep thinking of ways to get yourself out of this mess, if you could feasibly outrun him and lock yourself in your bedroom or any room with a phone so that you could call for help. Cannoli being so quiet was hardly any help at all, either, but at least she seemed to be unharmed.

"I thought the house was empty." He took a careful step back as he spoke, no longer crowding you, and you were thankful for small favors.

What did he mean by _thought it was empty_ though? You knew the lawn hadn't been mowed in a while, and there were some stubborn weeds in the flower beds, but was that really enough to make the house seem empty at a glance? Or was it just a lie?

"Well, it's not!" You replied, your voice shriller than you would have liked, giving away just how scared you were, even though he probably already knew, with the way that your knees were nearly knocking together.

"I know." Of course he did. _Now_. "I'm sorry."

He was _sorry_? How many people apologized for breaking into your house? Usually they just smashed, grabbed, and ran, but he didn't seem to be in a hurry to steal anything, and despite scaring the hell out of you, he hadn't actually hurt you yet. The keyword there was _yet_ , but he didn't seem to be in a hurry to do _that_ either.

"What do you want?" you asked, trying to sound braver than you actually felt. You don't think you succeeded.

"A place to stay the night," he replied. "Just so that they don't find me."

"They?" you repeated, "Who's they?" Was someone after him? Was he on the run from the police or something?

He seemed to hesitate for a moment before shaking his head. "It's not-"

Before he could finish, there was a sudden loud noise, which you would realize after the fact was a gunshot, and then one of the remaining panes of glass in the front window shattered. Even as you screamed, the man was pulling you down towards the floor, and the bullet only grazed your arm before hitting the wall behind you. It still hurt though, and there was more where that came from, a hail of bullets that broke glass, tore up the wall behind you, and rained plaster down on your head. You weren't aware of every much for a few long seconds beyond the throbbing in your arm, your heart pounding in your ears, and the man guiding you towards the hallway, out of sight of the window and in relative safety. Somewhere, Cannoli was barking again.

You were vaguely aware of the man checking your arm, where there was blood streaking down from the sound. You weren't sure yourself how bad it was, but he didn't seem to be acting like you were in danger of keeling over, so you took that as a good sign. Except for the fact that there were people with guns outside of your house and they wanted either one or both of you dead. That was a pretty big problem, as far as problems went.

"Do you have a car?"

You were so stressed out and overwhelmed that you actually had to think about that for a moment. Maybe you were starting to understand all of those people in horror movies a little better now, the ones that got on your nerves and took forever to answer questions when there wasn't any time to wait. "Yeah," you nodded, "In the garage." Which was something you were really grateful for right now, because if it was in the driveway it probably would have been shot to bits right now.

"Get the keys," he said. 'Get the keys'; like this was something that he did all of the time.

For a second, you almost thought to argue with him, to ask if he _really_ planned on going out there where there were men with guns, but then you thought better of it. What other options were there? And maybe if he left-even if he took your car-then the men would go with him and they'd stop shooting up your house. In that case, your car would be a small price to pay for getting out of this alive.

Wordlessly, you nodded, making your way down the hall towards your bedroom. Before, locking yourself in seemed like a good idea, but doors weren't a very good defense against bullets. You could only hope that this would all be over soon. As you grabbed your keys from the nightstand, you risked a glance down at your arm. It really didn't look as bad as you expected it to for how much it hurt. But really, you thought you were doing pretty well for your first time being shot, even if your heart was pounding so hard you felt dizzy and you thought you could pass out at any second.

Regardless, you returned to the man, handing over your keys. It was only when it was too late that you realized your house keys were on there too along with your car keys, but it wasn't like you could just ask for them back. Besides that, you suddenly noticed something that you hadn't before, and now you had to wonder how you'd managed to overlook it until now. The man's left hand was metal, maybe his whole arm, but in the dark you'd been distracted by other things like worrying if he was going to kill you, and the sweatshirt that he wore covered his arms, so it really hadn't been that noticeable until now. Who the hell _was_ this guy?

Before you had time to question it though, he was pushing you gently along towards the garage door. Or rather, it _seemed_ gentle, but you weren't sure that it would stay that way if you resisted him. You resisted anyway. "What are you doing? I'm not going with you!"

He paused for a moment, giving you a look that said he was trying to be patient but there wasn't really the time for it. "If they find you, they'll kill you."

"What? But I didn't do anything!" And you weren't even anybody important. Why would people you've never even met before want to kill you?

"Hydra doesn't like loose ends."

" _Hydra_ -" you repeated, intending to add more to that sentence before he grabbed you around the waist, lifted you off your feet, and carried you into the garage. "Whoa, hey!" Struggling was instinctive, even if you didn't know what you would do if you got free. Getting free wasn't even an option anyway, and he only let go of you to put you in the passenger seat of your car. You started to say something, but he closed the door, effectively cutting you off for the time being.

You watched him circle around to the driver's side, and as he was getting in-adjusting the seat back because he certainly wasn't anywhere close to being 5'4"-you spoke up again. "Do you even know how to drive?"

He looked at you like that was either the stupidest question he'd heard all day, or actually a very good one. Either way, he didn't answer the question. "Keep your head down," he said as he started the engine and jabbed the button to start opening the garage door.

Somehow, you didn't have a very good feeling about this, and it wasn't just because there were men with guns that apparently wanted to kill _you_ too. As you scrunched down in your seat and put your seat-belt on, you remembered something.

"Hey, wait! What about my dog?" You weren't sure if Cannoli would even be better off with you or at home, but you felt it was still a valid concern, all things considered.

The man didn't even bother to look at you this time; his attention was focused on the rear view mirror instead. As soon as the garage door was up high enough, the men outside opened fire again. You yelped, ducking down more and trying to make yourself as small of a target as possible. You also braced yourself with your feet as the man reversed out of the garage. You heard men shouting-and hopefully getting out of the way-as the gunfire stopped for a few brief seconds. Covering your head with your arms, as if that would really do any good against bullets, you tried _not_ to keep chanting _I'm going to die_ over and over in your head. It was a losing battle.

You found yourself somewhat thrown into the door as the man turned sharply, the back window shattering from another spray of bullets, before he was accelerating quickly down the street. By this point, you were sure that your car had seen better days, and you weren't entirely certain how you had made it out of that particular situation alive, but you _had_. It took you a few minutes to realize that you were practically hyperventilating though, curled up into a little ball on the passenger seat with your arms shielding your face. When you finally managed to lower your arms and peek over at the man, you saw that, while he was staring straight ahead at the road, he was frowning, almost as if he was concerned.

Clearing your throat, you slowly managed to straighten up, taking deep breaths. "Right, yeah, okay. I'm good, I'm okay." You were trying to convince yourself of that more than anything else, though. "I think I'd like to get off of this ride, now," you added quietly.

The man frowned more, not responding for a long moment-long enough that you were about to speak up again. "You can't. They'll kill you."

"Still? Really? But I didn't even do anything!" You exclaimed.

He shook his head. "You've seen me."

"It's not like I _wanted_ to! I wish you'd broken into someone else's house!" Because now, either way, you seemed to be wrapped up in things that you wanted no part in, and you weren't sure how to get yourself out of this situation.

"So do I," he said quietly.

Crossing your arms, and then shifting again to be a bit more comfortable with your wounded arm, you glared out the window into the darkness. You were more scared than angry though, but if you didn't focus on the anger instead, then you would end up crying, and you didn't want to do that. You didn't want to cry in front of this complete stranger who'd now kidnapped you.

"I don't even know your name," you grumbled.

He hesitated for a moment, and out of the corner of your eye you could see him glancing at you. "Neither do I, but I guess you can call me James."

What was _that_ supposed to mean? Still, a name was better than nothing, and now you had something to call him, and something to tell the cops too when you finally got away. Taking a deep breath, you introduced yourself, because it was only polite, and even if you didn't really care much about being polite right now, it was a normal, familiar thing, and for a second, maybe it helped things be a little less frightening.


End file.
